I was lying in bed some hours later.

Staring at the crinkled ceiling above me.

Listening to Eric's rhythmic breathing beside me.

Unable to belong in the quiet that surrounded my restless form.

I thought about work.

About the option I had.

The option not to go.

If I chose to call in sick, to let what I'd learned about Lauren and Tyler rip open my old wounds, Eric wouldn't think anything less of me for it.

Because he was my husband.

And he would stand by me.

Always.

We had our problems.

But if nothing else, he was someone who cared for me.

There were women out there who would settle for a lot less.

Who would be faithful to him.

And honest.

I wasn't just keeping you from what you deserved.

I was holding Eric back too.

Groaning softly, I got up and wandered downstairs to the kitchen.

It took a glass of water, a handful of junk food, and two Tylenols for me to realize what I was really doing there.

What I really needed for my peace of mind.

I snatched the phone from its cradle.

And brought it along to the far end of the house.

Where I dialed.

Where my call was answered.

Where I asked, "Can I see you tomorrow?"

And you said I could.

*

It was that promise and that promise alone that got me through the day.

Time dragged.

Just because I wanted it to fly.

And the second Esme drove away, the second I was certain I was alone, I left without even bothering to remove my apron.

My eyes darted immediately to the small building across the street.

And there you were.

Waiting just like you said you would be.

I took a deep breath.

And the air was fresh, and crisp, and untainted.

My feet shifted, all too ready to bolt thoughtlessly to your car again.

But I would have to make an attempt to at least appear normal.

So I turned.

And climbed into my car.

And parked beside you in a far more conventional manner.

You looked at me.

And I looked at you.

And the same time that hurried and slowed at the most inappropriate of moments stopped altogether.

"Any plans I should know about?" I questioned as the clocks returned to their ticking and I piled in next to you.

I found myself too caught up your face to really take in what your answer was.

But it must have been something in the negative.

Because I did hear the second part of it.

The part where you said, "I'm yours for as long as you want me."

And I remembered wanting to be yours.

Pretending to be yours for that torturously short time.

And the fact that you, in turn, wanted to be mine…

Well, nothing could have pulled me from the grips of misery more thoroughly.

"Why do you stare at me like that?" you asked, making me aware that I was once again gawking at you.

I turned my attention to my hands instantly before glancing back up at you in a way that I hoped was casual.

"I think you're…" fascinating, amazing, incredible, glorious, over and beyond anyone I've ever known…

"Handsome," I finished lamely.

"Oh," you said, your brow furrowed, "That's all?"

"Is that not enough for you?"

"No, no, I'm glad that's what you think, I mean thank you," you stammered, "It's just..."

You paused.

"Other girls stare at me sometimes, and I know from their eyes what they're thinking," you looked to me uncomfortably, embarrassed, "But when you stare, it's…different somehow. Like you see something in me they don't. I just wish I knew what that something was."

I knew what that something was.

That something I saw that none of the other girls you were comparing me to, girls who were probably all in their teens, would think twice about.

And it astounded me that you had picked up on the contrast.

Your innocence.

Your lack of experience in life.

Your freshness.

All anew and unspoiled.

That is what I saw.

That is why I called you.

Because that is exactly what I needed.

Telling you none of this, I pecked you quickly on the mouth and replied, "Let me know when you figure it out."

Your eyes watched me.

Hoping I would say more.

And then, with a sigh, you gave up.

"Where to?" your hands gripped the steering wheel with purpose.

"Let's stay here," I almost said.

Imagining the two of us wrapped around each other in the backseat.

Imagining your hands gripping me with purpose…

But all the glamour and class of doing such a thing in the parking lot of a video rental store turned me off to the idea.

So instead…

"Is your mother home?"

Confusion.

"She shouldn't be."

"Then why don't we head over there? I never got to see your new basement."

You blinked.

Then started the car.

"Okay then," you said, "I guess we'll go visit my basement."

And I smiled.

*

You turned on the radio as we drove along.

It wasn't a station I was familiar with.

But the music had a good beat.

And I enjoyed it.

At some point I rolled down the window.

Wanting to feel the wind on my face.

And I let my hair down.

And shut my eyes.

And felt the individual strands graze over my cheeks.

"I didn't know you had gray hair," you observed suddenly.

"What?" I gasped.

I ran my fingers through it.

Searching.

I did not have gray hair.

Did I?

And then you chuckled.

And I wanted to beat your face in.

I settled for hitting your arm.

"I do not have gray hair," I growled.

You only laughed more.

"You should have seen your face," you said.

And then imitated what I'd missed out on by widening your eyes in a horrorstruck expression.

And I laughed in spite of myself.

"You're cruel," I accused as I caught my breath.

"Sometimes," you admitted.

"I hope you know I won't hesitate to make fun of you the next time you get a pimple."

You grinned, "I'd say that's fair."

I concentrated on the wind again before my curiosity broke the silence.

"Where do you go to school?"

"Forks High."

I don't know what I expected you to say, but it definitely wasn't that.

"You do?"

"You expected I'd go somewhere more sophisticated."

It wasn't a question.

I responded as if it were anyway.

"Well, given your house and everything, yes."

You shrugged, "I tried out a few private schools at first, but, in the end, my mom and I decided Forks High was as good as any."

I didn't speak.

You took advantage of my silence.

"Where did you go to school?"

"Forks. That's where I met….Eric."

It wasn't my intention to bring my husband into the conversation.

But the words came automatically.

And by the time I realized I was saying them, it was too late to avoid it.

I looked to see your reaction.

You seemed absorbed in driving.

I wondered if this was a reaction.

Or if you were truly concentrating.

Knowing your age, you couldn't have had your license for very long.

"What does he do?" you asked without meeting my eyes.

"He's a businessman. He gets so lost in his work, I try not to ask about the science of it. But he'll tell me when he gets a promotion or anything like that. He has friends who work there too."

"And you love him."

Once again, there was no question to your words.

No accusation either.

In fact, it would have passed for an entirely casual statement if your voice hadn't gone flat.

"Of course," I sighed.

Feeling a bit nauseated.

You sighed as well.

And then turned off the car.

"We're here," you announced.

*

You took my hand the moment we stepped inside.

I was thankful for that.

The basement was one of the many places I'd never seen in your mansion of a home.

And I was sure if you left me to my own devices I'd get lost.

The immaculacy of the house never failed to make me feel out of place.

We followed the vaguely familiar route to the kitchen; passing unforgettable paintings and furniture that was so extravagant each piece seemed to be a work of art in and of itself.

And then we took a turn I'd never taken before.

And, soon enough, we had reached our destination.

"Wow," I breathed.

The décor of the basement had a completely different feel than the upstairs.

It was distinctly modern.

Dark and edgy.

My eyes had to adjust to the sudden change in lighting.

"It was a big change," you said conversationally, "But most people seem to like it."

"Do you?"

"Like I said, it was a big change."

Your voice sounded a little strange.

I was going to question it, but you offered to give me a tour before I could ask.

And I accepted.

I followed you around as you pointed out video games, televisions, pool tables, and various other expensive items of entertainment.

What really ingrained itself in my mind, though, is what you showed me last.

Your hands held open a pair of twin glass doors.

Waiting for me to pass through.

"And this," you were saying, "Is the pool."

I walked passed you.

And low and behold, there was indeed a pool.

The smell of chlorine reached my nose as I moved cautiously around its oval-shaped border.

"Is Liz a swimmer?"

I could hear your footsteps echoing behind mine as you said, "No, that would be me. She hates the water."

And that is when my klutziness got me in trouble.

As it tends to do.

Someway, somehow, even with my caution, I placed my foot just a little bit too close to the edge.

Just enough to throw me off balance.

Just enough to send me tumbling into the water.

A/N: This is another chapter that I'll have to break apart into two. After all of the recent depression, it was nice to write something a little lighter. I've had company for the past week and half. My cousin came up to visit. It was nice to have her here, but, naturally, I couldn't write much (and I got stuck sleeping on the couch). Thanks again for your support of this story! I'm always anxious to know what you guys are thinking!